


Don't Ever Look Back

by warblerfied



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, Inaccurate Ancient Greek Religion & Lore (probably), Inspired by Orpheus and Eurydice (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), M/M, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, References to Hadestown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:42:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28930467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warblerfied/pseuds/warblerfied
Summary: “Son,” said Apollo urgently, grabbing Blaine’s hand and pulling him closer, “I will talk to my uncle, Hades, and I will see to it that he hear your pleas. I can do no more than this, but Hades is much like you. He loved his wife from the moment he set eyes on her, just as you did with your husband. I am quite sure he would understand you, Blaine.”Blaine’s eyes brightened in a way no one had seen since the passing of Kurt Anderson-Hummel. “You believe I can bring him back?” He looked so youthfully optimistic, like he used to.“I believe you can try.”Klaine AU inspired by the Greek Myth of Orpheus and Eurydice
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel, Hades/Persephone
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	Don't Ever Look Back

**Author's Note:**

> This might be inaccurate to Greek mythology, but I tried my darndest to make it as accurate as possible !! Also, I'm sorry :)

Blaine Anderson was the most talented musician in all of Ancient Greece. His musical talent, perhaps, stemmed from his parentage. His father was the Greek god of music and poetry, Apollo, and the Muse Calliope was his mother. Blaine’s voice was so divine, so heavenly, that it came to charm anyone, or anything for that matter, that he encountered. He mastered every single instrument that ever laid in his hands.  Whoever saw him saw in him a great power, for Blaine carried in him such a pure and golden heart that the gold shone through in his eyes and through his song. His hair was darker than that of the darkest storm cloud Zeus could conjure, rivaling Nyx’s darkest night and curling beautifully around his olive-toned face.

Kurt Hummel was a normal man, though unparalleled in his beauty and wit. His pale skin shone under the bright light of the Grecian sun, never tanning but rather donning freckles. Chestnut hair stood in a graceful coif atop his head and his eyes were a unique, gorgeous, and mesmerizing mixture of blue, green, and gray. They looked as though Athena herself took but a million years to prepare and mix the delicacy and grace depicted by the paints in the glasz eyes. He, too, sang beautifully. His voice was one of a kind, unlike anything anyone that had the pleasure to hear it ever heard and Blaine would soon come to cherish it along with the rest of Kurt.

It was their voices that drew them to each other.

Blaine was galivanting through the forest, carefree as ever, and humming to himself as he strummed his lyre, a gift given to him in his infancy by his father. The trees seemed to bend their branches to be closer to the music, the flowers turned their heads, even the rocks seemed to make their steady approach to Blaine, just to get closer to his music.

It had the same effect on Kurt, who was meandering mindlessly until he heard the voice. But one also knows that it resonated deeper within Kurt than it did with the animals, the plants, and, well, everything. Blaine’s voice elicited a deep sense of rightness within Kurt, a sense of being home, something he hadn’t felt in quite some time, a sense of love. He could do nothing as he approached but sing along with this mysterious voice, marveling at how harmoniously beautiful they sounded together. 

The sound of a smooth countertenor joining him dragged Blaine’s head out of the clouds. No one had ever joined Blaine in his songs. He had always said he didn’t mind in the slightest, but they simply sat in awe, afraid that they might join and disrupt the perfection of Blaine’s art. He scoffed slightly at the thought, honey eyes rolling in annoyance.

It was a captivating sound. Suddenly, nothing else mattered, not the small animals gathering around his feet who he just might step on if they didn’t move quickly enough or the song, though he continued to sing it in hopes that it would bring him closer to the alluring sound.

Kurt was at a point to where he was almost running, which he almost  _ never  _ did (it made him flush, and not in a flattering way) just to meet the man with the melodious tenor. He came to halt in front of a scene he was sure could only be a picture painted by the best artist Greece had to offer. From the trees to the woodland creatures, everything was bent and crowded around a man, just a bit shorter than him in stature, and tanner in the skin. His eyes shone gold as the voice he was chasing came to a slow halt. He was, without a doubt, the most attractive man Kurt had ever seen, with curls of black and a smile more blinding than Helios’ brightest sun. Kurt’s singing halted just as the man held out a hand. 

“Please,” he called, taking a step closer to the pale man before him, “Do not stop on my behalf.” The man before Blaine must have been the finest specimen to ever grace the earth, he decided. His pale lithe frame leaned again the nearest tree, which straightened once Blaine stopped his singing. He had eyes made of sea drops, as far as Blaine was concerned, and his thin pink lips parted in what appeared to be surprise. 

Gods, even his speaking voice enraptured him. “I should say the same to you,” Kurt replied dazedly, blushing prettily as the man chuckled, ducking his chin to his chest.

“I suppose you should,” Blaine answered easily, once again holding a hand out to the man, “My name is Blaine.”

“That is a beautiful name,” Kurt complimented, slipping his hand into Blaine’s, flushing as he was met with calloused fingertips and a strong grip, “Kurt,” he added briefly. Somehow, the man’s smile widened.

“It suits you,” he said, returning his hand to his side and instantly regretting that decision. Kurt’s hand in his felt right in a way nothing else ever had, not even the likes of his lyre, which always felt as though it were a part of him. This man, Kurt, completed him further than music ever could, something he never thought possible. He belonged with this man forever, this he knew for a fact. 

“Thank you,” Kurt responded, fidgeting with the end of his shirt, “And you sing wonderfully.”

“I should say the same to you,” Blaine echoed with a slight smirk behind flushed cheeks. And, gods, if this man made Kurt blush any further, he would blend perfectly with the stain of the pomegranate. 

Blaine held out his arm for the pale man to take, releasing a brief breath of relief when he did, and guided him further into the forest. The pair talked of anything and everything, things past the basic elements of the self, what we now call small talk, simply because they didn’t feel the need to. It was an odd feeling, the feeling that they had always known the other, despite not having known each other at all. 

Kurt considered himself a guarded man, reasonable. He didn’t trust very easily at all, not after everything he had to endure in his village. So why, he asked himself, was it so easy, so natural, to trust this man he had only just met? Perhaps it was his eyes, the way they captured him with a sort of elegant charisma. He was certain it had to do with his smile, and his voice.  _ Gods,  _ his voice was miraculous. With him, with Blaine, he could truly share everything about himself.

They walked arm in arm until the darkest hour of the night, until the stars of Hercules shone above them, and Kurt begrudgingly informed Blaine, with a sad smile, that he had to return home.

Blaine, panicking at the prospect of losing this man, reached out and grabbed Kurt around the wrist, pulling him into a tight embrace. Kurt, of course, offered no complaints. He allowed himself to be held, resting his head on Blaine’s tan shoulder and sighing comfortably. 

“Come home with me,” he mumbled into the chestnut hair, pressing a kiss there, “To hold you is to hold the entire world in my arms. Please, Kurt, come home with me and I shall make you my husband and I yours.”

Kurt pulled away slightly, gasping as he saw no cruel joke in Blaine’s golden eyes, only true and desperate pleas.

“We have only known each other today,” he argued, though it had no real feeling to it.

“And yet I have spent my entire life waiting for you and every lifetime before that loving you. I will not waste the time I was gifted by the gods in this lifetime by waiting to confirm something I already know to be true,” said Blaine, peppering kisses on the expanse of Kurt’s face, stopping as his lips hovered above Kurt’s. “If you do not wish to marry me soon, though, I will wait. I will wait for as long as you need for you to be my husband.” 

“There will be no need for that,” Kurt responded breathlessly, surging forward to finally,  _ finally _ connect their lips. They kissed passionately, Blaine’s hands firmly holding Kurt’s waist and pulling him as close as physically possible. Kurt’s hands fulfilled a desire they had since he first laid eyes on the man and ran through the ebony curls, pulling slightly at the ends, which he found elicited a groan from his lover. Pulling away, Kurt rested his forehead against Blaine’s, hoping to keep their close proximity, “I never wish to say goodbye to you, I promise you this. I would marry you at sunrise tomorrow, if only you had given me enough time to plan!”

Blaine chuckled tearfully, pressing his lips once again against those of his newly minted  fiancé ’s.

There are those who doubt the idea of love at first sight. Perhaps they are right to do such a thing, for true love at first sight is a rare and beautiful thing. However, anyone who saw Kurt and Blaine had no doubt. Those men fell in love even before they saw each other. And their love was true, not just lust, nor delusions of the young mind.

Blaine  _ did  _ take Kurt home that night and together they slept entangled with each other well into the following day. Kurt awoke with his head on a tan chest, a smile gracing his face as he remembered the events of the day prior. He propped his chin in the hand resting on his fianc é’s chest, grinning at the peace dawning the softened features. Gorgeous, lengthy lashes fanned against olive cheeks, fluttering as glasz eyes met gold. 

“Good morning, my love,” he mumbled, holding Kurt closer to his chest and lightly placing a kiss in the silken chestnut hair atop the pale head. 

“Good morning,” Kurt beamed, trying and failing to leave Blaine’s bed with a light hearted roll of glasz eyes. “We cannot get married as soon as you wish if you do not release me and allow me to plan the wedding.” 

“Well, what if I do not wish to let you go?” Blaine pouted, burying his nose in the hair of his fiancé.

“Then our wedding date slips further away,” Kurt replied, smiling smugly as he instantly felt the arms around him shoot apart. He stretched languidly, a movement that could be compared to that of a cat, before getting to work.

It took Kurt a fortnight to plan his perfect wedding and, try as Blaine might, he would not be rushed in this sort of thing ( _ “This is our wedding, Blaine, it will not be anything less than sensational.” _ ). The wait, however, was completely worthwhile in the eyes of his fiancé.

Their wedding was undeniably divine. The clearing in which they met was lit by what must have been one thousand candles. They did not have any guests, but rose petals of red and yellow lined their makeshift aisle. Their togas were brilliant colors of turquoise and gold, comparable to the eyes of each man. The only other person who accompanied them was their officiant. It was, just as Kurt said it would be, flawless.

Both men had tears of joy in their eyes as they caught sight of their groom and donned smiles more dazzling than the brightest star ever conjured by Astraios. Kurt’s hands shook slightly as he exchanged his wedding ring of ivory, immediately being encompassed by Blaine’s and having a kiss placed upon them.

“I do”s were exchanged, as were an insurmountable amount of kisses, and the pair walked out of that forest a married couple. Finally, an unbridled sense of rightness settled deep within Blaine as the cool ivory pressed against their intertwined fingers. Until, that is, Kurt had stopped them to examine a rustle in the bushes behind them. 

Gently, as to not startle whatever was hidden within the leaves, Kurt approached, ignoring his husband’s warnings with a light hearted roll of the eyes. Kurt’s horror-stricken gasp, however, proved Blaine’s caution to be reasonable.

The pale man backed away slowly, back into the arms of his husband as petrified tears made streams down his face. 

David Karofsky, broad and towering, stood with a chilling smirk, wielding a blade. Kurt had, of course, told his husband many tales of the man who had tormented him through his years, how the man who had tortured him like it was his lifeblood turned out to be like him, and yet he was still tormented.

Karofsky sneered and made way to Kurt, who was shielded behind Blaine. The latter man whispered for his husband to run, and Kurt obeyed. He ran as fast as his legs could take him, Blaine meeting with him rather quickly, only to push him to go faster, warning that the man still followed. Kurt nodded and Blaine shot off, calling for Kurt to catch up when he heard a  _ thump  _ behind him.

Petrified, he turned to see his husband on the forest floor, having tripped on the roots of a tree. Karofsky approached the couple, smirking victoriously while Kurt had been incessantly scrambling to stand, Blaine rushing to his aid. None of the men had noticed a snake, smooth and graceful in its movements, advancing. 

Kurt released a ragged gasp as he felt the fangs of the creature break the skin of his ankle, followed by a pained yelp. Blaine’s eyes widened as he saw the snake slither away, toward David who suddenly lost his intimidating demeanor and ran in the opposite direction, though Blaine couldn’t bring himself to care. He focused on holding Kurt’s head upright as his glasz eyes fluttered to a close. 

“No no no,” Blaine murmured, gently tapping the side of Kurt’s face, effectively keeping him awake for a bit longer, “Stay with me, my love. Focus on my voice,” he whispered, though his voice broke and his eyesight became blurry with tears, “Stay with me, yes? We have so many years ahead of us, my love,  _ please _ .”

Kurt chuckled weakly, everything felt slow to him, it all seemed to be winding to a beautiful close. All that was familiar was Blaine. His breath came in short, fleeting gasps. “Sing to me, B. If I am to... d-die, I wish to do it hearing your v-voice. It would be a-a w-wonderful way to go, do you agree?”

“You are not dying, Kurt. You can not die, my love,” Blaine insisted stubbornly, all but begging as he shook Kurt’s weakening body softly, “You promised me you would not say goodbye, you promised,” he sobbed dejectedly, holding Kurt’s body tight to his chest.

“And I am n-not breaking my- my p-promise,” Kurt breathed out, allowing his eyes to flutter shut for a second before opening them to meet golden eyes brimmed with tears, “We will see each other again. I-in every lifetime, do y-you not remember that, my l-love?”

“Not yet, Kurt” Blaine choked out. “Not now. I can- We will get you help. Help! Help, please! My husband, he’s dy- Please! I need- I need-” he hung his head dejectedly, knowing that there was no one to hear his desperate calls.

“I love you. S-sing to me… p-please. Please, don’t m-make the last thing I hear of y-you be t-this,” he interrupted, tears welling in his eyes at the desperation he heard in his husband’s voice. Blaine placed his forehead to Kurt’s, golden, red-rimmed eyes meeting weakening glasz. He sighed tearfully, nodding against Kurt’s forehead as he began humming the melody he had been singing the day they had met. Just as they had that fateful day, the trees bent their branches to hear the very same song, which was somehow different once it became filled with such great, uninhibited grief, the flowers turned their heads as though Blaine was their withering light source, and small woodland creatures gathered around them, their tiny heads bowed as Blaine’s grief flowed through them. Kurt gathered his strength and raised his hand to cup Blaine’s tanned cheek, placing a kiss there before calling with the rest of his strength, “Blaine.”

Blaine felt Kurt’s entire body go limp in his grasp, his head falling into Blaine’s hand rather than resting against his own. The hand on his cheek fell, lifeless. He had stopped fighting. A pain so agonizing it felt as though it was ripping him into pieces blossomed from his chest. The song, heart-breakingly beautiful in nature was interrupted by a broken exhale, a kiss upon a pale cheek, and unadulterated sobs. He could do nothing more than yell, raucous, unrestrained, anguished sobs. Screams so harrowing, all of Greece knew a great love was just lost. Screams so deafening and desolating, they were heard by the gods, who had cried with him that day. 

Eventually, he gathered the strength to pick himself off the ground, carrying the somehow paler husk of his husband to his final resting point. He lay under the tree in the vast yard of their home, where he had previously enjoyed singing with the warblers that rested upon its branches. They, too, sang a song of mourning as Kurt was laid to rest. 

Blaine Anderson-Hummel was once a light-hearted, carefree, and charming man. Things like that, evidently, have the ability to change. The populace of the village spoke of how the man was before he lost the love of his life. He never again played the lyre, and the only times he was ever heard singing was under the branches of a tree, along with the chirps of birds. It soon became a familiar tune to all. Though they had never heard the two of them sing it together, the villagers came to understand that it was a song that held a special place in the lives of Kurt and Blaine Anderson-Hummel.

Blaine’s father, Apollo, watched his son mourn his love, feeling nearly as helpless as the boy. He despised watching his son going through the same anguish daily knowing he could do nothing of it. 

As a god, he did not truly understand his son’s pain, for the gods loved more than once, as immortals they watched all of their loves wither and pass, eventually moving on to find new love. He waited for such a fate to befall his son, for his turmoil to slowly come to a cease, but it never came. Without fail, Blaine would awaken and stare longingly at the opposite side of the bed, going through the day with his once golden eyes glossed over and no longer shining. 

Growing impatient, he descended to face his son, who gasped audibly in surprise.

“Father,” he gasped, lifting his gaze to meet the eyes of the god, “What brings you?”

“You do, of course,” he answers dismissively, waving his hand through the air. “You have spent many a months crying over the man you once loved-”

“I do not wish to interrupt a god, Father, but I still love Kurt. I will love him for the rest of my days,” Blaine intercepted, courageously holding his eye contact with the god,

“And that is why I have come here,” replied Apollo, glancing at the lilies, flowers that signify mourning and the regaining of purity after death, resting around his son’s home. “I have loved many times, and from one of those loves came you. I do not see reason in remaining caught in one infatuation. One you cannot have, less.”

“I love him, Father,” Blaine responded fiercely, daring to glare at the god, “I will not love again, not until we should meet again, wherever that may be.” 

“It’ll be in the underworld,” said the god, “You’d have to be...” Apollo trailed off as a solution dawned on him. “Son,” said Apollo urgently, grabbing Blaine’s hand and pulling him closer, “I will talk to my uncle, Hades, and I will see to it that he hear your pleas. I can do no more than this, but Hades is much like you. He loved his wife from the moment he set eyes on her, just as you did with your husband. I am quite sure he would understand you, Blaine.” 

Blaine’s eyes brightened in a way no one had seen since the passing of Kurt Anderson-Hummel. “You believe I can bring him back?” He looked so youthfully optimistic, like he used to. 

“I believe you can try,” replied Apollo, holding Blaine by the shoulders, “Listen to me, son. All this moping, it does not do any good. You have a chance to remedy all of this, but should you not succeed-”

“I will.”

“Should you not,” emphasized Apollo, tenderly raising a hand into the curls his son had inherited from him, “You must persist, you must live. Is that not what your Kurt would want of you?”

Blaine hesitated, but nodded, exhaling slowly as his father disappeared, back to Mount Olympus. He looked around with tears of joy brimming his brightened golden eyes and brought a lily to his lips, pressing a kiss to the petals. “I will see you again very soon, my love,” he whispered, “I promise.”

Blaine watched as the sun set, awaiting the return of his father. It came the next day. Apollo had said nothing upon seeing his son again, only smiled and nodded. 

Collecting his lyre and a flower for his travels, a red carnation, he set his course. The path to the underworld was dark and treacherous, as it was not on tread often at all, and the entrance was found on the tip of the middle promontory, Cape Tanaerum. This, however, did not deter Blaine. He walked with a high head and a bright smile, whistling a tune which had regained its joy. 

He crossed the rivers Styx, Acheron, Cocytus, Phlegethon, and Lethe, the river of forgetfulness, by foot, as he could not have taken the ferry rowed by Charon, which carried the souls of the dead into the underworld. Blaine hoped his love had somehow been exempted from drinking the water from the river Lethe, as that would mean Kurt had forgotten him. 

Perhaps he had luck in not having to take the ferry, for those who are on it must present a fare of coins with which they were buried. He sang with such breathtaking rejuvenation that he had passed Cerberus without the bat of an eye from either party. 

As Blaine reached the judges,  Rhadamanthus, Minos, and Aeacus, he began singing again, halting their judgments of his soul so that they may admire his talent. He halted his singing so that he may talk, but continued strumming the lyre. 

“I have not yet died, so there will be no need to sentence me,” he explained, lowering his eyes respectfully, “My name is Blaine, son of Apollo, and I have come to collect my husband. His name is Kurt Anderson-Hummel, but first I must speak to King Hades.”

They looked at him as though he had just said the most ridiculous thing they had ever heard. Perhaps if they were not so deeply entranced by his talents, his journey would have been refuted there. But they were.

“King Hades and Queen Persephone’s palace can be found in Tartarus,” they replied dazedly pointing down, in the direction of the palace. It stood ominous over Tartarus, the deepest part of Hades, used only to torture the worst of souls. Blaine looked over the dark pit and nodded stiffly.

“How will I get there?” he asked.

Enchanted by Blaine’s talents, they offered to transport him, and he accepted, mindful not to stop his music.

The palace was not a dark or unhappy place, or at least it wasn’t when Blaine had visited. It was Autumn, you see, which meant Persephone will have returned to her husband. Their home was a rather joyous place in the darker counterpart to Mount Olympus.

“Who steps in my palace without invitation?” a voice boomed from the opposite walls. Blaine immediately dropped into a bow.

“King Hades, my father spoke to you about my visit. I traveled here to speak to you about my husband,” he replied as he stood straight again, meeting the eyes of the god of the underworld. 

“Ah, yes. Apollo did mention a son of his,” said Hades, gesturing to a chair which had appeared before the thrones of he and his wife, “Blaine, was it?” He nodded. “Well, have a seat.” Blaine walked uncertainty to the chair, bowing to Persephone before taking his seat.

“I would like to speak to you about my husband. His name is Kurt Anderson-Hummel, he arrived a few months ago.”

Hades nodded slowly, smiling, “Ahh, the man who had refused to drink from the river Lethe.”

Blaine’s head snapped up, “What?”

“He refused,” Hades answered simply, “He said many times that he had no desire to forget his husband, and I see now that you two share a certain stubbornness.” 

“Much like yours, is it not, my love?” quipped Persephone. It was the first time she had spoken since Blaine had arrived. Her voice was kind and her tone teasing, it made Blaine feel a bit more at ease. 

“I suppose,” Hades chuckled good-naturedly, then continued, “Well, he drove himself a nice bargain. He did not have to drink so long as he would work directly for me, as a court minstrel of sorts. Your husband is here, awaiting a call so that he may entertain us with a song.” 

Blaine’s head seemed to be spinning. Kurt, his Kurt, was here, perhaps in the next room. Hades seemed to sense his excitement, for he smiled slightly.

“Tell me of him,” said Persephone, placing a hand over that of Hades on the arm of his throne.

“At risk of sounding disrespectful, he works here. Do you not-”

“I know he sings well,” she interjected, smiling good-naturedly, “I know that he is apparently stubborn. I know nothing of him or the love that you share, so tell me.”

“I met Kurt one day in the woods. I have the tendency to wander. Or, I did, I suppose-”

“Did?” she questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“I changed after he passed... greatly,” he cleared his throat, eyeing a grand door to his right and willing the door to burst open, his love running to him. “He was singing with me, no one ever had the courage to sing with me, and you are right he sings beautifully. I fell in love with him before I saw his face. I knew he was the one I had to marry. I asked him for his hand that night. My father told me you knew what that felt like.”

“I do,” said Hades.

“I don’t wish to speak on such a sore topic, but I now know how it feels when your wife returns to Mount Olympus in the Spring. I saw the life drain from my husband’s eyes and I thought there was nothing that could be done, that I would never see him again and I had never known such grief, such sadness. When my father told me there was something I could do to see him again, I had hope again. For the first time in many months, I sang, I played my lyre. Kurt is my life, your Majesties. He is my new reason to sing.” 

“Then sing,” responded Hades.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Sing,” spoke Hades, “Sing the song of your love. I have known of many who wanted to bring back their loves. Prove to me that you love this man enough that I break every rule ever put in place so that you may bring your husband back.”

Blaine’s golden eyes widened in surprise, but he nodded. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and began singing the very song he had sung the days he had both gained and lost his husband. His singing affected them just as it had everything else. Persephone wept silently, tightening her hold on her husband’s hand. Hades, too, was brought to tears, hearing the familiar desperation in the man’s voice. He recognized it well, for he felt it every time Persephone returned to Mount Olympus. They were brought out of their trance only briefly when a higher, more familiar voice joined Blaine’s. 

Blaine stopped his song completely, listening to the voice he had missed so dearly. He watched the door intently as the voice drew closer, heart beating out of his chest. The grand door opened and there stood Kurt, offering a watery, heartfelt smile before running into the arms of his love.

“Blaine,” he breathed, wrapping his arms tightly around Blaine's shoulders. Blaine released a ragged breath and tightened his hold around Kurt’s waist, pressing a kiss to the side of Kurt’s head, into his chestnut hair. He released him slightly, bringing his hands up to frame Kurt’s pale face. 

“I have missed you every day since you- since it happened.” He still couldn’t bring himself to say that Kurt had died, no matter how much time had passed. “My father, he told me how to find you. I’ve come to bring you home, my love. That is, if Hades will allow it?” He turned to King Hades, who was hastily wiping a tear away and giving the pair a watery smile. He shared a look with his wife before his gaze landed on the couple yet again.

“The two of you may leave,” Hades announced, but warned before they could celebrate, “However, Blaine, Kurt must always walk behind you. You cannot glance behind you, you must only trust that he is following.”

“Is this a trap?” asked Blaine, Kurt’s hand grasped tightly in his.

“It’s a test,” responded Hades. He said no more, only nodded his head to the door and smiled. Blaine turned to Kurt, who smiled reassuringly before pressing a kiss to Blaine’s cheek. 

“I love you,” he whispered, “You will not be alone, I will follow.” 

So, Blaine set off just the way he had come. The trek seemed somehow less treacherous while hearing the footsteps of his husband. He smiled to himself, knowing that Kurt was probably complaining about this path in his mind. 

Blaine had only known such joy two times in his life, when meeting and marrying Kurt. He walked with his head high, Kurt’s footsteps like a song in his heart. He wanted so badly to turn and hug him, give him millions of kisses that had missed out on in the months that he was gone, but he refrained. He held back until he reached the sun, only in that moment turning to embrace his husband, who was still submerged in the darkness. 

His heart sunk like a stone. He watched helplessly as Kurt fell back into Hades, trying to chase him just as he had before, but being denied entry. Kurt’s eyes met his as he fell. He was not angry, or sad. He was shocked, Blaine could see it in the widened glasz eyes that looked back at him. Blaine grasped desperately at an outstretched hand, but it was no use. He had broken his deal with Hades. He screamed in agony, knowing there would be no way past Hermes, who was posted at the entry of Hades, placed there by Zeus. There was no remedy for this. 

Kurt was honestly, and truly gone. He would never again hear his melodic laugh, or finally have a singing partner, have someone to hold and to love. He would never again see Kurt’s smile, so radiant. Never would he have anything Kurt had ever given him. 

Blaine fell to his knees, head in his hands, and sobbed, wishing for an end to his suffering, wishing to see his Kurt again, but his wish was not granted. A numbness overtook him, as if nothing else would ever matter, would ever make him feel the way Kurt had. 

Eventually, once he had screamed his throat raw and could cry no longer, he had to pick himself up, and return to a Kurt-less house. He wondered how others continued when their lovers met the same fate as his, how they breathed, how they got up in the morning, or how they found the motivation to do anything at all. He never found out. 

Blaine returned to a life without song, without joy. Golden eyes dimmed and his bright smile was never again seen. All he could do was lay under the tree, Kurt’s tree, and listen to the song of the warblers nesting there.

Tired and jealous of Blaine’s devotion to his late husband, the women of his village found him one day while he was in that state, dazed and distant, under the tree. Numb and desperate, Blaine did nothing when they advanced on him, drawing their blades. They murdered him in cold blood and threw his mutilated body in the river, where it is believed that his head still floats, singing his songs of grief to all who pass.

Blaine’s soul, however, knew peace. He returned to Hades, finally and permanently being reunited with his beloved Kurt.


End file.
